


Count

by BlackBat09



Series: Bat's Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBat09/pseuds/BlackBat09
Summary: A prompt fill from tumblr: "For your nsfw prompts could you please do number 6 with myan (or anyone /michael) thanks bby!!"6. Punishment/DisciplineHe isn’t moved by pretty words and crocodile tears, knows exactly how Michael is; give him an inch, and he’ll take a thousand miles, wreaking havoc and raising hell until someone puts him in his place, and who better to do that than the man who understands him best?





	Count

“Count.”

Ryan knows Michael is pouting, even though he can't see his face as the lad is bent over his knees, a pretty flush creeping down the back of his neck from his hairline, making Ryan smirk. Michael has been pouting since he first got in trouble, honey-brown eyes glimmering wet as he tried to explain how _sorry_ he was for what he’d done, stumbling over his words. Geoff had been willing to give him a pass.

Ryan isn’t Geoff.

He isn’t moved by pretty words and crocodile tears, knows exactly how Michael is; give him an inch, and he’ll take a thousand miles, wreaking havoc and raising hell until someone puts him in his place, and who better to do that than the man who understands him best?

Ryan knows the fire, understands the urge to destroy, but he’s had time to temper it, learned to hone it into something useful and save it for when he needs it, while Michael… Where Ryan is a blade, Michael is an atom bomb.

The first crack of his hand across Michael’s bare ass makes the lad jump, grunting one as Ryan admires the pink handprint he left on Michael’s pale skin, smile growing broader as the skin reddens. He wants to stroke it, gently, feel the heat radiating off Michael’s body, but they’ve just started and Ryan knows they need to finish, to make sure the discipline sticks.

The second stroke hits Michael’s other cheek, the boy biting back a sound before he counts two, and Ryan just smiles; god knows Michael can’t stay quiet forever, and Ryan looks forward to hearing him moan.

Ryan smacks Michael twice more in quick succession, the lad stammering out the next two numbers before cursing under his breath, which simply earns him another crack of Ryan’s hand across his pale cheeks in reprimand.

“Five- god, Rye-” His hand comes down harder, making Michael cut himself off with a pained cry and another number, the boy squirming on Ryan’s lap as the older man gives into his own desires, stroking the heated flesh of Michael’s ass, cupping one soft cheek and rubbing his thumb over the red spot that stands out so starkly on Michael’s creamy skin.

“I said count. Nothing else,” he chides softly, pulling his hand back to wind up for another strike, and then the next and the next, Michael’s body going lax as the lad slips further with each impact, gasping the numbers between soft, desperate cries and candy-sweet moans that make Ryan’s cock pulse where it’s pressed uncomfortably against his fly. Michael’s hard, too; Ryan can feel it, but he’s also being good, not rutting up against Ryan’s leg like he probably wants to, just letting the older man deliver his punishment with sure strokes of his hand.

“Twenty-five.” Michael whimpers the number and Ryan stops, absently shaking his stinging hand as he looks down at his boy, how calm he is, how _vulnerable,_ bent over Ryan’s knee and marked by Ryan’s hand. It’s his own fault, really, that Michael had even needed the punishment; he only acts out when Ryan neglects him, skips out on regular sparring or goes too long without playing out a scene, too wrapped up in work to notice Michael’s frustration until the lad unleashes it on something or someone.

The older man sighs, gently running his fingers through Michael’s close-cropped curls, damp with sweat after the effort of being so, so good for Ryan. “Come on, dear.”

Michael lifts himself shakily, glancing up at Ryan through his wet lashes, pupils blown wide with a halo of gold around them and his lips bitten almost the same shade of red as his bruised ass, tears leaking down his face that Ryan gently brushes away with his thumb.

“Good boy, Michael,” Ryan praises quietly, and Michael scrambles into Ryan’s lap again, straddling him and curling his arms around the older man’s shoulders as he buries his face in the curve of Ryan’s throat, nuzzling and kissing and quietly apologizing as Ryan strokes the line of his spine, dropping a chaste kiss on the redhead’s temple. “It’s alright, Michael. You were so good.”

His hand moves from Michael’s back, resting at the lad’s hip for a moment before slipping between their bodies, fingers trailing dangerously close to the base of Michael’s cock as he whines. “Can I make you cum, my dear?” Ryan asks, chuckling but not taking Michael in hand when the lad furiously nods, just tutting softly. “Words, Michael.”

“Ryan, please-” Michael sobs, the desperation making Ryan shudder, just knowing he’d made the lad like this. “Fuck, please fuck me.”

Ryan just presses another gentle kiss to Michael’s forehead, wrapping his hand around the lad’s perfect cock, thumbing his leaking head and reveling in the way Michael’s breath hitches, a hiccuping moan escaping his lips as Ryan strokes him. “Not tonight, Michael. Tomorrow. Right now is all about you.”

His grip tightens a little, pace quickening as he strokes Michael root to tip, leaning down to kiss and nip gently at the side of the lad’s neck, sucking a dark mark behind his jaw before Ryan whispers for him to cum, and Michael cries out almost immediately, cock pulsing in Ryan’s grip as Michael cums, his seed striping Ryan’s shirt and dripping across his fingers. Ryan wipes his hand on his shirt after he lets go of Michael, using his clean hand to tilt Michael’s face up for a proper kiss before lifting the lad off his lap and settling him gently into bed, hushing Michael’s whine when he stands.

“I’ll be right back.”

Stripping off his soiled shirt, Ryan tosses it to the floor before heading to his en suite, washing his hands and then wetting a washcloth with warm water, squeezing out the excess and grabbing a bottle of lotion before going back to Michael. The lad groans, swatting lazily at Ryan, but the gent just laughs, wiping sweat from Michael’s forehead, neck, and back before he pours lotion into his hands, letting it warm up a little before massaging it into the raw skin of Michael’s cherry-red ass, contented little moans leaving Michael as Ryan takes care of him.

“There’s my good Michael.” The cloth is tossed in the same general direction as Ryan’s shirt, the lotion set aside on Ryan’s bedside table, and Ryan strips off his jeans and boxers before he shuts off the lights and climbs into bed, drawing Michael into his arms and kissing his lips. “I love you.”

Even in the dark, Ryan knows there’s a smug grin on Michael’s face, and he chuckles before he kisses Michael’s forehead. “You’re still a little shit, though.”

Michael just laughs, curling closer and resting his head against Ryan’s chest. “Yeah, yeah. Love you, too, Rye-bread.”

They fall asleep not long after.

**Author's Note:**

> i... ??? man idk. what au is this??? what's the context??? what did michael do??? how did the end turn out so sweet???  
> who knows, my dude. hit me up at blackbat09 on tumblr


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